Seidmadr Tales

Jack lay collapsed in the apartment as dark blood spilled from his mouth onto the wood flooring. His eyes fixated on his hand as the knucklebones fell from its weakened grip, only to collect them and futilely try again. Four men in black formal jackets appeared between two bounces of the bones. One carried a bottle of wine. One held a cane. One had a glass of rum. The fourth stood peering through the lens-less frames of his glasses at the newspaper clippings pinned to Jack’s wall. “My my my, haven’t we been a little hero,” the Baron commented, “and we’ve enjoyed watching you.” Jack let out a scratchy cough, that the Baron interpreted as a response. “You? No,” the Baron turned to Jack, shaking his head. “We’re not here for you.” Jack rolled his head back and forth on the floor as tears fell from his cheek as Jack endured the pain of forcing his words out. “No. Why don’t the dice work anymore?” The Baron stepped over Jack’s limp body to accept the glass of rum from his associa